


Steel your words

by redroslin



Series: The Laura Roslin soul mate AUs [3]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Election drama, F/F, Laura Roslin/power - Freeform, Meet-Cute, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 14:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18345182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroslin/pseuds/redroslin
Summary: Laura's wrist told her she was going to be President.





	Steel your words

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Saathi1013 for suggesting Dee/Laura and then egging me on!

 

_The Words_

 

Her words said, " _Thank you for joining us_ ," so Dee joined everything she could. She signed up for chess club, theatre, athletics. She enrolled in volunteer programs to help clean up garbage in rural areas, to alphabetize the city archives, to teach toddlers how to read.

She must have heard her words a hundred times and never felt a thing.

When she enlisted, running away from the overwhelming burden of all the things she'd _joined_ , all the identities she'd tried to make her own, she heard the words again and again. Like ashes in her ears, they meant nothing.

 

* * *

 

Two decades earlier and on another world, Laura laboured under the conviction--her own and her parents'--that she was born to be President of the Twelve Colonies.

If this sounds like the preoccupation of many an ambitious family, well, in this particular case they had reason to believe: On her left wrist, in precise block capitals, were the words, " _It's the least I could do, Madam President._ "

Without those words, she might have gone into teaching or social work. With them, her ambition had an object, and at 25 years of age she gave everything she had to her political campaign for Mayor of her small Caprican city of Corinth--a campaign she lost.

Four years older and wiser, she tried again. Again she lost.

So she went into teaching after all.

Much later, when Adar's aide approached her to stand with him in his campaign for the Presidency, she jumped at the chance, believing her time had (almost) come.

She quickly grew frustrated with Adar's comfortably centrist stance and even more frustrated with his unwillingness to listen. She knew he valued her input (or said he did) but he kept her at arm's length--and further than arm's length--as she became known among his supporters for challenging him and for her aggressive stances on education, trade, and defense.

When the Cylons came and she was handed the Presidency by a quirk of fate, she almost laughed. _So this is how it finally happened_ , she thought. _So this was where it was leading all along. With my death sentence in one hand and the Colonies already gone. Why did I work so hard for this?_

 

* * *

 

Billy's wrist said, in Dee's blunt all-caps handwriting, " _In or out._ " Even though he never thanked her _for joining us_ and his writing didn't look a thing like the elegant scrawl on her wrist, she decided that was good enough.

 

 

 

_The Election_

 

Laura didn't know why Tory had insisted on bringing the ballot transport officials to Colonial One so they could meet them, and she wasn't about to ask.

She found herself even less inclined to ask questions when the transport team turned out to be a polite group composed entirely of Galactica crew, Colonel Tigh at the forefront.

"Colonel," she greeted him.

He returned her nod curtly. "These are Lieutenants Gaeta, Dualla, and Sanders; Ensign Calloway; Private Lucas; Petty Officer Colls."

"A pleasure," she said, as she went down the ranks, shaking hands, "I appreciate your assistance," to one of the officers at random, and "Thank you for joining us," as she clasped hands with the last of the group.

The latter smiled, her green eyes sparkling with humour. She really was remarkably pretty. "It's the least I could do, Madam President."

 

* * *

 

The President had been holding onto Dee's hand for far too long.

Definitely too long. What was--

Oh shit, the President had said her words, hadn't she?

And then Dee had said--what had she _said_?

"If I may, Lieutenant... Sanders?" the President asked, still clutching her hand.

"Dualla," she corrected, shocked at how normal her own voice sounded. "But everyone calls me Dee."

"Dee," she said, and Dee almost shivered at the sound of her own name in that smoky voice. "Could we speak later?"

Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe the President had an entirely different reason for wanting to talk. Maybe she'd caught on to what they were doing. Foster had been sure Roslin didn't know the plan, couldn't know the details, had to keep the Presidential hands clean and the office of the President blameless, and Dee hated all the layers of prevarication but--

Oh, gods. The President wanted to talk to _her_.

"Yes. Definitely."

" _Good_ ," the President all but purred. Releasing Dee's hand, she turned to the room. "Now, Colonel Tigh, Tory, if you could catch me up on our preparedness for election day. Are the poll officials trained and equipment in place?"

Dee had never been attracted to someone this much older than her before, and she probably shouldn't find it stupidly hot to be ignored like a flicked switch in favour of election business, but it _was_ hot--and, gods, how had she never before realized that she wanted to wrap herself up in the President's voice and never come out again?

Frak.

Why now? Why the President?

 

 

 

_The Aftermath_

 

As it turned out, they didn't have a chance to talk until after the piper was paid.

The President was called away from their election meeting by some urgent situation, clattering away on a fierce pair of heels with only a speaking glace back at Dee--and then everyone was well and truly into election furor. They pulled it off and Roslin won the election, then Felix uncovered the truth and she _lost_ the election, and then everything was headed for all seven hells in a handbasket.

It hadn't been long. More than a week but less than two since they'd shaken hands and everything had changed. The President (soon to be _former_ President, and gods how that rankled) would get in touch with her at some point, if Dee wasn't insane and if they'd actually spoken each other's words.

She had to. Dee just had to be patient.

 

* * *

 

Tory had arranged to steal the election, but there had been people on the ground who had done the deed. Someone had printed fake ballots and replaced locked boxes and disposed of the evidence--all those real votes from half a dozen ships incinerated or thrown out an airlock or stashed in a hidden compartment somewhere.

Someone had done all that.

 _How many people does it take to steal an election?_ Laura wondered, and found she didn't really want to know.

A voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Bill Adama continued, _How many people does it take to decide that democracy doesn't matter? To decide, on behalf of the entire human race, that who we are as a civilization matters less than our frakking survival?_

Laura had given Tory permission, and that made it her responsibility, no matter how many hands were sullied in the act. Still, others _had_ chosen to act, had put her in this position with or without her direct approval, and she couldn't forgive or forget them as easily as she might have liked.

Someone--several someones--had sold their honour on Laura's behalf, on behalf of the office of the President, and it had all come to naught.

Someone had frakked up, had sent out ballots that didn't match the ones in circulation on the Zephyr. Had the missed typo on the ballots been a mistake, or had it been sabotage?

No. No, surely that was paranoia speaking.

Still. _How many people does it take?_

Three people? Six? Tory, Saul Tigh, and a couple of Galactica's officers? A few well-intentioned crew members, neither faceless nor blameless, one of whom had spoken Laura's words and looked her in the eyes and smiled.

Was the smile a lie?

Was all of it a lie?

But Dee had smiled like she'd never seen anything so remarkable as Laura--like she'd never expected anything so astounding could exist in the world.

Laura shivered, and drew her blankets closer, and tried not to think about brilliant green eyes or Dee's small hand in hers, or a people doomed to Gaius Baltar's indifferent leadership.

Bill was wrong. She could have stolen the election and lived with it.

It was harder to live with having tried to steal an election and failed.

 

* * *

 

Dee was many things, but patient wasn't one of them.

It was the work of five minutes for Dee to find out when the President would next be meeting with the Admiral, and no work at all to stockpile that day's non-urgent fleet transmissions and neglect to hand them to the next comms officer at the end of her shift.

A quick trip to the head to freshen up, and she was striding down the hall to the conference room almost as if she knew what she was doing.

President Roslin looked up with a frown as Dee stepped through the hatch--and then her eyes widened in recognition and she set down her pen.

"Today's transmissions from the fleet," Dee said as she handed the data packet to the Admiral without breaking eye contact with Roslin.

The Admiral squinted down at the sheaf of paper flimsies, then back up at their messenger. "Are you on duty right now, Dee?"

She snapped to attention and almost succeeded in suppressing her smile. "No, sir!"

He frowned. "Am I correct in thinking that your duty shift ended twenty minutes ago?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why--" He glanced from Dee to the transmissions with a skeptical air. "None of this is urgent. And I was in the CIC when most of it looks to have come through."

"That's true, sir."

Roslin snickered.

The Admiral's eyes flew to her and he smiled with better humour than Dee had dared to hope for. "Madam President? Care to shed some light on this mystery?"

Roslin shot Dee a small, conspiratorial smile. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, the only urgent message is for me."

The Admiral frowned. "Is that right, Lieutenant Dualla?"

"...Yes, sir."

"How urgent, exactly, are we talking?"

The question had been directed at Dee, but the President cut in before she could answer him. "The Lieutenant will wait outside until we're finished here, so long as you don't mind my monopolizing your meeting room a few minutes longer than usual."

The Admiral nodded, not without some amusement. "That's fine with me."

"Dee?"

"That's--I mean--yes, Madam President. Admiral, sir. I'll just step out into the hall."

 

* * *

 

Bill chuckled once, softly, and met Laura's eyes as he gathered up his papers. "I don't suppose I should be asking you to explain whatever brought Dee in here."

Laura leaned forward to rest her chin thoughtfully on one hand. "I don't think she mentioned what brought her?"

He snorted. "I'll find out eventually, you know."

"I'm sure you will."

 

* * *

 

Dee leapt upright when the Admiral and then the President stepped through the hatch, feeling like a misbehaving child about to be scolded by the school principal.

The Admiral nodded to them each in turn--"Madam President. Dee."--and set off toward the CIC. Dee looked to the President and there her courage faltered.

"Come in," Roslin said at last, stepping carefully back through the raised hatch on five-inch heels. Dee followed.

Dee pulled the door shut behind them and turned to find Roslin laughing softly. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"I don't really see the point in waiting when I already know what I'm going to do, Madam President."

"I don't know whether to attribute that to impatience or initiative."

"Split the difference and call it both?"

The President chuckled. "That seems fair. Now what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to--" She fumbled for words, out of her depth once again. "We were going to talk! ...Madam President."

"You should call me Laura."

She bit back her first impulse, which was to say, "I couldn't _possibly_ , you're the _President_ ," because how the frak were they supposed to talk or--or anything--if Dee couldn't manage to call her by her name? Only, with that catastrophe averted, she didn't quite know what to say instead.

The President let her silence roll out a moment too long before she spoke again. "You were part of the conspiracy."

There it was. Irrefutable, irrevocable. No sense prevaricating; the damage was done. "Yes. I was."

"You wanted me to cheat my way to a second term."

"...No. And yes, Mada--Laura." At the President's eloquently raised eyebrow, she continued. "I wanted you to win. Baltar can't--couldn't--be allowed to take the Presidency. He's too dangerous. People are going to die because of him! We might all die if he makes us settle on that planet. I couldn't let that happen--even if it meant stealing the election. Even if it didn't work. I don't regret my actions."

"And I can't condone them. You need to know that."

Frak _that_. "I didn't do it for you."

"I do realize that." The President considered her thoughtfully and Dee tried not to cringe from the bite in those steel-washed blue eyes. "I don't disagree with any of the reasons you _did_ do it. But I can't ignore your methods, especially when they almost forced me to steal an election."

Dee wanted to protest, wanted to point out that the President wouldn't have stolen anything--but she knew that wasn't the point.

"You're right," she said instead. "It wasn't fair to you, and I wasn't thinking of you. I was only thinking about the rest of us, and the harm that bastard Baltar will do."

"Was it your mistake?" At Dee's blank look of confusion, the President clarified, "On the Zephyr ballots."

" _No_." Dee didn't know and didn't _want_ to know whose mistake it had been, but it wasn't hers. She didn't know if she would've been able to live with herself if it had been her fault.

"Good."

Gods, Roslin was so beautiful, and so frakking intimidating. "Good?"

"I gave Tory permission, you know," the President said softly, looking down at her manicured hands. "I didn't know what she'd do, not for sure, but I knew the election was being swung. I knew."

"I'm sorry we failed you."

"So am I." She sighed. "And I'm also not sorry. It was a bad job, either way."

"I know." She took a step closer, daring. "What happens now?"

"Now, we survive. And I invite you to dinner on Colonial One. Tomorrow evening, if you're free?"

What. "Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Fighting the hope that wanted to claw its way up her throat, she blurted, "But you're the President."

"I'm Laura. I'm as human as you. And you said my words, which I've been waiting a very long time to hear."

"You said mine, too."

"Well, there you go. Dinner seems like a sensible place to start. Unless you have an objection?"

"No, I--of course not." Dee shook her head. "But I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Neither do I. Humour me."

"Humour _you_?" Dee laughed, delighted. "You can have anything you want from me, Madam President."

The President stifled a cough. "I hope that's a figure of speech."

"I'm afraid it might not be."

"Let's--" The look of naked vulnerability on the President's face left Dee feeling shaken. "Let's start with dinner, shall we?"

"I'd love to... but tomorrow it would have to be late, after my shift ends. I don't know if a raptor would be--"

"I'm sure a raptor can be dispatched," Roslin said, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "But I suppose you might have trouble catching one for the return trip?"

 _Was she really--?_ Dee blinked. _Oh, gods_. "I might. But I could bring an overnight bag. If there was somewhere I could crash."

"We sleep tight on Colonial One, but I'm sure something can be arranged."

 _Holy frak_.

"And you accused _me_ of not wasting time," Dee grinned.

The President--Laura--smiled back. "I couldn't let you take all the initiative, now could I?"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was too lazy to figure out whether Dee and Laura might have met before this in canon, but if you can bring me an episode where they actually meet I'll write another soul mate AU for that first meeting. (Give me an excuse to write more shortfic while WITS has broken my brain, yes good plz.)
> 
> ETA: I've come across the scene where they meet in canon. It's awful, naturally, and now I have to work it into another fic. Gorram it.


End file.
